Page 19 of Backed By You
Why the hell did I need to notice that?
I’m intruding. Not just in her home, but in her private world. The realization sits uncomfortably in my chest as I force myself to walk through the room without touching anything.
The living room is warm even without a fire in the hearth. The couch is deep and soft, covered in a patchwork throw that looks handmade. I sink onto it, the exhaustion of the past few days catching up to me all at once. The rain continues its assault outside, but in here everything is still and peaceful.
I should set that alarm, make sure I’m gone at first light. I try to remember where I set my phone, but my eyelids are already growing heavy.
Just five minutes of rest, then I’ll get up and…
A low, threatening growl pulls me from the depths of sleep.
Seven.
Callie
Thegraveldrivewayisa mess. More mud than road after last night’s apparent downpour. I navigate my Jeep around the worst of it, the headlights cutting through the predawn darkness to reveal a landscape transformed. Fallen branches litter the yard. My flower beds are decimated, petals and stems pasted to the dirt like a sad collage.
“I’m glad we didn’t have to fly through that storm,” I murmur to Hulk sitting perch in the passenger seat.
The short trip to LA was a success. After party and premiere details were set, security was booked, I got to view the final chapter in my movie trilogy for the fifth time, and I spent five days hanging out with my best friend. It’s safe to say I’m feeling much more confident about traveling for the upcoming premiere. Although I’m not looking forward to spending the twoweeks doing promotions and interviews, but none of that starts for another month.
As I pull closer to the cabin, something unexpected catches my eye near Beau’s little construction site. A half-collapsed tent, sagging under the weight of pooled rainwater.
That’s…odd.
I frown, putting the car in park. I reach for my phone and check the time. 6:23 AM. Too early to call said grumpy landlord and ask what’s going on. I shoot him a text, expecting a response in another hour or so.
I hop out of the car, and my sneakers slap the driveway with a splash of mud. Fantastic.
“You be careful,” I tell Hulk, opening the passenger door. “Don’t get too muddy or you’ll need a bath.”
He leaps down, on alert as he surveys our surroundings. I decide to get Hulk his breakfast before I return to grab my bags. He was so patient on the early morning flight. Together we walk up the porch steps as I remove my keys to open the door and…
I freeze.
The door is unlocked. The deadbolt no longer engaged.
My heart jumps into my throat.
Ialwayslock my door. Always.
Memories flash through my mind—shattered glass, drawers emptied, belongings scattered, the violation that followed me across California and into my nightmares.
“Such,” I whisper to Hulk, the search command we’ve practiced hundreds of times.
He moves, nose to the door seam, his body tense. A low growl builds in his chest—not his warning for everyday strangers. This is his alert.
Someone is inside.
My hands shake as I pull out my phone, my finger hovering over the emergency call button. I should back away, call for help,wait in my car with the doors locked. That’s what my father would tell me to do. Safe. Logical.
But this is my home.
One I’ve worked very hard to make mine over the last six months. It’s my safe place.
And someone has invaded it.
With trembling fingers, I grip the doorknob. It turns with aclickthat sounds obscenely loud in the quiet early morning. Hulk’s growl deepens when I push the door open slowly, my other hand still clutching my phone. The cabin is dark except for the faint glow of sunlight beaming in through the far windows.
